


Jehanparnasse Week 2017

by ramon



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-26 01:30:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12545812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramon/pseuds/ramon
Summary: Unrelated one shots for Jehanparnasse Week 2017Prompts and additional tags are in the notes of every chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 - Magic  
> tags: smoking, graveyards, very little depictions of violence,  
> beta'd by in-love-and-liberty on tumblr and they are the best ever. without them, this would be a mess and i am extremely thankful.

Montparnasse did not believe in magic until the day he met Jehan Prouvaire. 

People talked about magic all the time, they were obsessed with having higher power than what their simple, mortal lives granted them. Some believed magic was as simple as growth of flowers, current of rivers and fall of rain; some believed it was granted by their God, some believed it was blasphemous to seek for magic; some believed themselves to be witches; some believed it was within each individual, some believed it was only given to special people. Some believed it to be a curse and some believed it to be a blessing. 

Montparnasse believed in none of those. He wasn’t a cynic or a nihilist. He simply didn’t believe in any power above men. 

Maybe, if only, life gave him reasons to believe, he would have, but life was not in favor of this man. He was raised in an orphanage, like how every other tragic story began. The orphanage was never able to place him in foster care as he tended to steal things since the day he learned to snatch candy from the purses of workers there. He had far too many records of misdemeanor under his sleeve. No family wished to have a kleptomaniac kid. Though, this little habit of his came handy when he was kicked out of the orphanage on his 18th birthday. He was soon picked up by a group of thieves that was impressed by his abilities to pickpocket people and swipe items from various stores. They soon began calling themselves Patron-Minette. Montparnasse’s life wasn’t in any way magical, pun intended.

For Montparnasse, life was simply black and white. Survive or kill. Live or die. It was that easy for most of the time. Although he adored beauty and cherished glamour, he never let his guards down enough to lose himself to the sensation of luxury. 

Flowers and braids don’t go with knives and blood, he thought. 

But he was wrong about many things. He was wrong about not believing in magic, he was wrong about simplicity of life, he was wrong about flowers, braids, knives and blood. 

He met Jehan Prouvaire on a chilly November morning. 

The clock was nearing five in the morning and he was on his way to home, an abandoned warehouse Patron-Minette claimed many years ago. It was the morning of a relatively successful heist. Relatively, because while Montparnasse didn’t mind attacking their victims and spilling some blood, rest of the Patron-Minette did not necessarily agree with his ways. Nevertheless, Montparnasse had to attack a man last night, blood was spilled but never on him. He was a professional at this point, he could carve out a man of his skin and slice up each muscle without a drop of blood touching himself. 

This morning, after the heist, Brujon and Babet had taken the task of transporting the stolen goods to their warehouse, leaving Montparnasse empty handed without a mission. He found himself walking in the direction of the warehouse but he knew better than to directly walk over to his home after a heist in case anyone was following him, so he chose to take the long route and walked towards the cemetery’s big and graceful arch gate. His plan was to wander around a little, maybe even pretend like he was mourning if security was around, and leave the cemetery from one of the least exciting gates. 

But again, Montparnasse was wrong.

Of course, it wasn’t uncommon to see other people in cemeteries, people came in all hours, even ungodly hours like this, if it was a special day for the dead and the living. 

To avoid suspicion, Montparnasse decided to look for a tombstone that belonged to a person that would be close to his age if alive to make it look like he was visiting a dear friend that was blessed with the merciless death at such a young age. Of course, no one would know of this fake story, but Montparnasse liked the drama. So he stopped by a simple tombstone that read the name Nicholas Bellamy. If this Nicholas Bellamy was alive, he’d be 25 years old, only a few years older than Montparnasse. He found himself sitting down next to the tombstone, leaning his back to the right side of the small marble head. His long, leather clad legs lay flat in front of him. Throwing his head back, he rested his head on the gravestone. He was tired after all. The tombstone was cold and it sent shivers down to his spine yet the rays of the rising sun hit his face and warmed him up slightly. He closed his eyes and listened to his surroundings in case of any threat, there was none. The dead lived a quiet, silent life.

Without opening his eyes, he scavenged the inner pockets of his long, black coat for cigarettes, because only Montparnasse would bring a pack of cigarettes to a heist. After finding the pack, he took one out and placed it between his lips. His expected next task of finding a lighter was a failure; he did not have one. He sighed, as he reached to the unlit cigarette to put it back into the box, he heard a delicate voice above him.

“You need a light?” said the stranger above him. 

Montparnasse lifted his head from the tombstone and opened his eyes and only saw neon green boots by his side. The stranger was standing next to him, facing his right side. They were very close to Montparnasse. He wondered how they managed to come this close without making any sound. It scared him that a person could be this silent. 

“Yes,” he replied, cigarette still between his lips and this time he looked up to the stranger. 

If he thought the green boots were bright, that’s only because he hadn’t looked at this person’s shining eyes. Their eyes were such a shade of brown that it should’ve been called caramel. So light yet so rich of color. Almost yellow but not sickly, not never sickly. Full of life and brightness. 

The stranger kneeled by him as they reached for the pocket of their purple coat and to reveal a small matchbox. Montparnasse’s gloved hand reached to the box but before him, the stranger already lit one of the matches and brought it to his cigarette. He took a long drag from the cigarette and tried to look into the eyes of the stranger but they were focusing on the match. After Montparnasse’s cigarette was fully lit, they shook the match and dispelled the fire. Montparnasse lifted the cigarette from his mouth and tried to catch a glimpse of their eyes.

“May I?” the stranger asked. Montparnasse nodded yes without actually understanding the question.

They lowered themselves even more and sat down cross legged next to Montparnasse, still facing his side. Until then, Montparnasse didn’t have a chance to fully take in the stranger’s appearance except for their eyes and the hideous boots. Now, he could see everything. They had long, strawberry blond hair that braided on one side and decorated with numerous flowers. How cliché and pretty, Montparnasse thought. Their face matched their hair, the caramel eyes were accompanied by infinite looking freckles and rosy lips. It was like as if they were designed to radiate warmth. Underneath the purple coat, sleeves of a red and black leopard print sweater were visible. What a horrible choice of clothing, Montparnasse thought as he realized they were wearing pink flower print leggings. He took a long drag of his cigarette, his heart was not ready for all those patterns and colors. They sat in perfect contrast, the colorful stranger and the monochrome thief.  
His thoughts were interrupted when the stranger asked “What did this person mean to you?” in a sweet voice that made Montparnasse want to rip out his own heart; there was no place for sweetness in his heart.

“No one” he replied, forgetting his fake play. The beauty of the person sitting next to him made him feel like he was enchanted, losing the ability to play his character. He swore internally as he realized his mistake. 

The stranger shuffled uncomfortably. 

“If you wish for me to leave you alone, I can go away.” They sounded even sweeter and somewhat caring. Why would they care about Montparnasse? 

Uncharacteristically, Montparnasse said “No, stay.”

Montparnasse who never talked to anyone besides Patron-Minette, Montparnasse who didn’t trust strangers, Montparnasse who would rather remove each of his own finger nails rather than show interest in other people. Montparnasse who wanted the stranger to stay.  
“Are you here to gather inspiration, then?” Asked the stranger.

“No,” he replied again. They still looked uncomfortable. “What about you?” he continued  
.  
“The inspiration,” they replied, now more comfortable but still with the sweetest voice Montparnasse ever heard in his life.

“What is inspiring about a field of corpses?” 

“Never ask a poet that.” they smiled shyly. “The name is Jehan Prouvaire. May I ask for yours?”

“Montparnasse.”

“Just that?” Jehan asked. Jehan. The stranger had a name now.

“You asked for a name, I gave you a name.”

“Montparnasse” said Jehan, dragging out each syllable, as if they were testing it out. 

Montparnasse wanted nothing more than to feel those rosy lips that uttered his name with such grace on his cold ones. 

“A poet, you are then?” he asked.

“As much as everyone.” Jehan smiled again, this time, with more confidence.

They radiated warmth.

“Not everyone is a poet.” Montparnasse brought his now half wasted cigarette to his lips.

“Yet you talk like one.” Jehan said. 

Montparnasse thought their eyes to be bright and shiny before but now that a smile accompanied them, he realized he was wrong. Next to this pure smile, their eyes were not the brightest. The poet’s face was the brightest of them all. Every inch and every piece had their own character. The petite nose that was pierced on both sides, the fair eyebrows that rested above those unearthly eyes and the rosy lips.

Oh the lips. 

They looked so plump, so pink, so there. And Montparnasse was at loss of words. The man who could talk virgins into sin and sinners into grace, the man with a tongue that would put shame to a hissing snake, could not find words to articulate his feelings about the poet next to him. He felt so strong yet so powerless at the same time but he quickly reminded himself that this was still a stranger after all.  
“Have you gathered enough inspiration, then?” asked Montparnasse. His voice was cold without intending to be. He didn’t like how much the poet charmed him, making him feel so exposed.

The poet looked offended now.

“You don't have to be rude. If you want me to leave, I will.” They started to get up.

“No.” Montparnasse said hastily and reached for the poet’s wrist, instead his gloved hand held their bare fingers. “That's not what I meant. Stay.” he wished he wasn't wearing any gloves, lifting any barrier between their skins. 

“What did you mean then?” 

“Read me something of yours?” The poet hadn't pulled back their hand from Montparnasse's grip and they weren't trying to leave now.

“They are a little -” Jehan stopped to find the correct word “personal.”

“I see,” Montparnasse murmured low under his breath, then he raised his cigarette to his mouth only to realize that it was all ashes by then.  
He pushed the cigarette butt into the grass to fully unlit it. Jehan scowled at him.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“I shouldn’t do many things,” it was Montparnasse’s turn to smile now. 

His eyes caught sight of the graveyard guard talking to a cop on behind Jehan. He was glad that he opted to stop by the graveyard rather than directly going home. 

“That is my cue,” he said as he pointed at the two men talking with his chin. 

Jehan turned around to see what was going on behind. They turned back with a confused look on their face. 

“What do you mean?” they asked. 

Montparnasse slowly brought the poet’s hand to his mouth, barely touching their hand with his cold lips, and he rose from the ground swiftly, leaving the poet still stumped. 

“Maybe another time.” He said and picked up the cigarette butt from the ground. He couldn’t afford leaving any traces behind.  
Jehan still looked incredibly confused as they realized the police officer walking towards them. Montparnasse leaned over the poet, brushing  
the strawberry hair behind their ear. 

“I will see you again, Jehan Prouvaire.” Montparnasse said, and with that, he left, almost disappearing into the shadows.

Montparnasse did not believe in magic, until now, because the only explanation he’d accept for this ‘love at first sight’ thing he’s experiencing would be that Jehan Prouvaire casted a spell on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is the first time I'm publishing any of my writing ever! So, if you have comments they are very well apprecaited, kudos too, of course.  
> You can find me on tumblr, i am fairlyemo.tumblr.com there, and thank you for reading this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 - Acceptance  
> tags: recreational drug use (harmless marijuana), smoking
> 
> beta'd by in-love-and-liberty on tumblr and i am very thankful for their help

“I don’t trust him.”

“You are the who introduced him to me!”

“So that you could get discount weed and stuff!”

“Well that’s what I’m doing.” Jehan said as they passed the joint to Grantaire.

Grantaire was lying half naked on the floor, next to the twin sized mattress that was Jehan’s bed. This was their usual Sunday set up; a little relaxation before the upcoming week’s classes and some brainstorming for future projects and assignments. Grantaire the art major and Jehan the literature and philosophy double major had a lot in common. They both shared intense love for Ancient Greeks and their mythologies, weird poetry, and getting high. 

“Well you should’ve stopped at that, Flower.” said Grantaire without lifting his head to see Jehan who was lying on the mattress. 

“Why do you care so much?” 

“Because I’ve known Montparnasse since we were kids; he’d been bad back then, he is bad now.” Grantaire passed the joint back to Jehan, then managed to find a pack of  
cigarettes Jehan left lying on the floor and lit one, signaling he was done with the joint. 

“You are being ridiculous. He’s not a murderer or a thief he just sells weed to stressed college kids.” Grantaire turned to Jehan to object but Jehan continued, “we are the stressed college kids R.” 

“There is more to ‘Parnasse than selling weed and you know that.”

“Yes, for example, he fucks me into the bed like there is no-”

“Hey!” Grantaire lifted his upper body using his elbow and looked at Jehan directly in the eye “I didn’t ask about your sex life.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke to Jehan’s face. “You  
know he is dangerous.”

“Pass me the ashtray please, love.” Jehan said, trying to change the subject.

Jehan knew Montparnasse was dangerous, they knew he had illegal connections and owed favors to bad people. They knew that those favors were not the innocent kinds. But Montparnasse was wild, mysterious and menacing. And Jehan liked that about him. They were always seen as a delicate, vulnerable little thing by people and they were sick of that. And Montparnasse was the exact opposite, he made them feel wild too and he liked that about him. 

Of course, there were more things they liked about Montparnasse. He made them feel so beautiful yet so strong at the same time. Always challenging them in various ways and appreciating them at the same time. Montparnasse seemed to adore their weird and quirky ways and accepted them as who they were.  
Jehan could see why their friends could not accept Montparnasse as they did. If only they saw the man underneath all the layers of leather.

“What do you see in him anyway?” Grantaire asked.

“Nothing,” Jehan answered, his voice sounded irritated. They turned their head to face the ceiling, not Grantaire.

“Hey, Flower, look at me,” Grantaire reached out to Jehan and turned their head around, one hand on their cheek, slowly rubbing. “Don’t get upset, you know I’m only trying to protect you from harm and I just don’t understand why you keep seeing Montparnasse other than buying stuff.” Grantaire sounded apologetic.  
He should be apologetic, they thought.

“Because-” Jehan started, they closed their eyes and took a deep breath, but they couldn’t bring themselves to say it. “Nothing.”  
Grantaire sighed, “Jehan-”

Jehan turned their back to Grantaire, causing him to lift his hand.

“I want to sleep early, R. Need to go to the library before class for my paper.” with that, Jehan rolled to their side and pulled the sheets to their waist.  
Shuffling sounds came from the ground where Grantaire stood up, turned the lights off and left the apartment without saying anything.  
Because I love him, they thought. That was what they couldn’t say to Grantaire. Not before Montparnasse heard those words first.  
-  
On Thursday evening, Jehan met everyone in Café Musain, where they held their weekly meetings for the ABC. The meeting went smoothly as Enjolras and Combeferre explained the details for the charity event they will be holding for the local soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and Courfeyrac assigned everyone their duties. Jehan and Feuilly were given PR duty aka finding their target people and informing them about the event. Grantaire would be making posters and flyers and on Monday, Jehan and Feuilly would visit homeless shelters and local homeless people they knew to inform them. Easy.

After the meeting, everyone stayed for a few drinks and chatter. Jehan was talking to Joly and Bossuet about the development European sewer systems. Joly was explaining his appreciation for sewers as he’d rather die than shit in public pits and Bossuet was joking about how he’d probably fall in one of them if he lived back then when Jehan spotted 

Bahorel going downstairs.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Jehan said, leaving the two to explore the depths of sewers. 

“Hey!” Jehan called to Bahorel when they saw him in the front of the coffee, a cigarette unlit between his lips. 

“Hey! You are not wearing enough layers to be out in the cold.” Bahorel protested Jehan’s arrival without a jacket.

“I’ll be fine for a few minutes.” Jehan pointed at the cigarette with their chin “May I have one too?” 

“Sure, sure. But you have to take this.” Bahorel said as he removed his scarf and wrapped it to Jehan’s neck. “At least cover your throat.” 

“But you -” Jehan started to protest.

“I have a hoodie under this, here take it,” Bahorel handed them out a cigarette and lit Jehan’s and his.

He removed his sweatshirt’s hoodie under his big, dark green coat and covered his head. 

“See? Now nobody is disappointing Joly.” Bahorel smiled. “I see you are smoking more and more little bird.” he then stated in a questioning manner.

“Things are… stressful.” 

“I’ve noticed. You haven’t sent any letters to R the whole meeting.”

The letters were something Jehan and Grantaire came up many meetings ago; either one of them would get an idea about a project, paper or even simply Sunday night plans and get overwhelmed with need to share it. However Grantaire always sat at the back of the room and Jehan usually sat by the front and they would not want to disturb the listeners, or worse, Enjolras. So they created this system to simply write them down and pass them along using their friends. At least with that, no sound would be made and two dreamers would feel a little more relieved. 

Since the argument of Sunday, Jehan was avoiding Grantaire. It was easy, they had no shared classes and both of them were occupied with papers and other assignments anyway. 

“I just-” Jehan began to say but Bahorel started speaking at the same time.

“Is this because of Montparnasse?” he asked.

Jehan sighed deeply. “I don’t know. Maybe. No. and yes at the same time.”

“What happened?” 

“R told me that he didn’t trust Montparnasse and I just got upset.” Jehan said.

“You know he’s only trying to protect you, right? He’s worried about you. We all are.”

Protect. 

That word again. 

“I don’t think there is anything to be worried about.” Jehan sounded grumpy. They were grumpy. 

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been down a lot more lately, you smoke more, you go out less, you even look skinnier if that is even possible!”

Jehan couldn’t bring themselves to say that the reason they were so stressed was because of their double major was kicking their ass, that they could not keep up with papers and reading assignments. That they had spent so many sleepless nights because either their anxiety kept them up and eaten them inside out or that they could not simply sleep with all the writing needing to be written. 

But they never complained about these things. Everyone had so much on their plates anyway; Grantaire was struggling to earn money to be able to pay school, Feuilly was working 4 jobs at the same time, Enjolras was killing himself to improve ABC and maintain a perfect GPA and so on. Jehan felt like complaining about his dumb assignments would be only adding to everyone’s troubles. 

Everyone needed them to be a cheerful, little sing-song, not a whiny poet. 

To avoid causing trouble to their friends, Jehan just let Montparnasse be the scapegoat. They knew that was wrong and that they needed to fix it. They would if they had the chance.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Trust me with this.” Jehan said.

“ ‘t sucks to say this but if Montparnasse keeps fucking you up like this - you should stop seeing him.” Bahorel said and threw his cigarette into the thrash can.

Jehan wanted to scream but instead they opted to put out their cigarette in the trash can and follow Bahorel upstairs. 

“I can’t.” muttered Jehan.

“Why?”

“Because -” Jehan stopped themselves again. “Nothing Baz. Nothing.”

Because I love him so much they thought. Not before ‘Parnasse hears it first. Not before Parnasse hears it.

-

On Monday, Jehan and Feuilly were walking to the homeless shelter a few blocks away from Feuilly’s apartment. They were planning to put up posters and talk to some of the people there, letting them know about the event. Flyers and poster designed by Grantaire were in Jehan’s old, brown messenger bag. They felt guilty even carrying them. On Sunday afternoon, Grantaire came by Jehan’s apartment and dropped them, leaving immediately with an excuse of needing to finish some paintings for class.  
Grantaire looked upset with Jehan when he stopped by. He did not directly look into Jehan’s eyes and spoke very quietly. Jehan knew they were harsh on Grantaire last week but they were upset with Grantaire too. He shouldn’t have pushed that hard on them. 

Jehan felt bad. They needed to sort things out with Montparnasse as soon as possible and they needed to be quick, tonight preferably.

Jehan felt the November breeze and shivered down to their spine. For extra warmth, they linked their arm to Feuilly’s and started walking closer to the taller man. 

“Are you cold?” Feuilly asked.

“Mhmm yes.” 

“You aren’t taking care of yourself properly Jehan.” Feuilly stated.

“What does this have to do with cold Feu?” Even though Feuilly was being serious, Jehan tried to sound playful. They really could not bear any speech about Montparnasse.

“When was the last time you ate a fruit sweetheart?”

“Joly! Stop possessing Feuilly!” Jehan protested.

“Hey I’m serious! Jehan you’ve been -”

“Upset? Stressed? Acting weird? I know. I am. All of them. And I love you Feu but I everyone is trying to baby me and I just can not stand this anymore. I just - need some time. And everything will be okay. I promise. I can take care of myself.” Jehan could not believe they had let it all out. 

Feuilly stopped walking, turning his face to Jehan’s and stared at them for a second. Jehan wished they hadn’t said anything at all. However, suddenly, Feuilly pulled them into a hug, wrapping his arms around them and stroking their back. Jehan could not react to this sudden hug for a split moment but they soon relaxed, burying their face to Feuilly’s shoulder. 

Jehan really needed this hug.

After a while, Feuilly unwrapped his arms and stepped back a little, holding Jehan from their shoulders. 

“Hey,” he said sweetly “I’m sorry. Do you want to sit down somewhere and talk over a hot chocolate? We can do this later.” 

“No, no. It’s okay. I need this to be done.”

Feuilly lowered his hand from Jehan’s shoulders and began zipping up their orange coat. 

“If we are doing this, you are not catching a cold.” He smiled and planted a kiss on Jehan’s forehead after putting their coat’s hoodie on their head. “Say, Jehan, what’s the deal with you and Montparnasse?”

“Nothing.” Jehan said again. 

I am so in love with him, they thought. They wouldn’t say it to Feuilly out loud, no, not before Montparnasse heard it first.

-

Later that night, Montparnasse was on top of Jehan, kissing and biting their neck as his hands roamed around Jehan’s naked upper body. 

Their sweater was long discarded, and they lay on their back on the mattress, Montparnasse’s body pressing down them. He was gently touching their sides, waist and back as he kissed Jehan’s neck, knowing that the redhead enjoyed it there a lot. Jehan’s hands were on Montparnasse’s head, ruining perfectly shaped hair with fingers running through them. 

Montparnasse’s soft lips and hard bites on their neck made Jehan feel so good yet they needed those lips on theirs. Jehan moved their hands from Montparnasse’s head, cupping his face, they pulled him closer to their face, then kissing him passionately. 

“Someone’s eager.” Montparnasse murmured between kisses. 

Jehan could feel the taste of rich quality wine and cigarettes on Montparnasse’s lips. They felt a slip of tongue, a touch of teeth on their bottom lip. Montparnasse slowly began biting, sucking, Jehan only felt more heated. 

Montparnasse lifted himself a little above Jehan, his lower body still pressed to Jehan’s, creating a little space between their faces. He brought a hand to Jehan’s face, his finger slowly rubbing their cheekbones. Montparnasse looked at Jehan as if he was looking at a sacred book, a masterpiece. It was no secret that he admired their beauty.

“Such a beautiful face,” he said, still caressing their face.

Jehan could barely hold themselves from exploding with love. Everything about Montparnasse screamed poetry to them; they way his eyes shined with adoration, the way his fast fingers touched Jehan, the way he whispered sweet nothings. Jehan could not stop falling for this man.

However, they needed to talk about things. 

“‘Parnasse,” said Jehan lowly. 

Montparnasse’s hand stopped still and lay on Jehan’s face. “Is there anything wrong, love?”

Jehan loved how carefree Montparnasse was about that word. Neither of them said anything about loving each other but Montparnasse kept calling Jehan love, my love any given time. 

Then why was it hard to say it? 

“My friends,” Jehan took a deep breath, “don’t like you.” they said.

And with that, Montparnasse got up. Jehan tried to get up and protest but Montparnasse was quick, he just got up from the mattress, grabbed his leather jacket from the back of a chair, removed a small plastic bag of weed and threw it at Jehan.

“You’ll pay me later.” he said and left the apartment with a thunder of a door slam.

Jehan could see Montparnasse was hurt under his stoic expression. He had every reason to be hurt, Jehan thought. Because Jehan fucked up nicely. Who would start a conversation about loving someone with saying that their friends don’t like them? Apparently Jehan. 

They just slammed themselves into the bed and stared at the ceiling until they fell asleep, without bothering to move for the entire night. 

-

On Tuesday, Jehan did not go to classes. They emailed their professors saying that they caught the cold.

-

On Wednesday, Enjolras texted to see if they and Feuilly were done with the PR duty. Jehan simply texted “yes” and turned off their phone.  
-

On Thursday, they didn’t attend the ABC meeting, saying that a paper due midnight was turning out to be very difficult to write. In reality, Jehan could not lift a finger, let alone attend the meeting.

-

On Friday, Courfeyrac texted to if it was okay for him to visit Jehan but Jehan said they had sudden inspiration flood and did not want to be disturbed while they wrote. Jehan was not writing.

-

On Saturday, Jehan finally managed to find the courage to text Montparnasse. They simply typed “come here please” and sent it. 

Minutes, or maybe hours passed until Jehan heard the studio’s door open. Only Montparnasse and Grantaire knew Jehan left the front door unlocked when they were in and Jehan doubted Grantaire wanted to see them.

Montparnasse entered the studio. He was wearing a long black coat today, hiding all of his body until his calves. His black boots looked still good as knew but Jehan knew that Montparnasse owned them for three years now, with extreme care though.

Before Jehan could say a thing, Montparnasse took out several plastic bags of weed and asked “How much do you need?” 

“You know I didn’t text you for that.”

“So you wanted to insult me more? I prefer my insults in letters. Summoning me to your feet for that, is simply cruel, Jehan.”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you! If you could just listen to me, you’d know” Jehan couldn’t contain their anger now. 

They got up from the bed and walked to Montparnasse. They reached out to Montparnasse’s hand to hold it but the man in black was quick to realize and hide his hands.

“Please, listen to me. Then you can leave, or yell, or storm off. Just - listen first.” Jehan almost begged.

“What is it then?” Montparnasse showed no sign of understanding or softening.

The man who carried lust and love in his eyes looked to matte, emotionless this day. He could conceal his feelings and turn his face into a blank piece of paper when he needed to. 

“Look, I’m sorry I started a conversation by saying that my friends don’t like you, but it’s true, they don’t. But they should because I do. I mean, you probably guessed I liked you in the last three months we’ve been doing this,” Jehan pointed at their bed, “And like I’ve said, this has been going on for three months, and I want to tell you something, and that something is very important to me,” Jehan took a deep breath and stared Montparnasse in the eye, hoping for a change of emotion but there was none, yet they didn’t let the blankness of his face discourage them. “I love you.”

Montparnasse didn’t say anything, move a muscle or show a reaction. He just kept staring at Jehan blankly. 

Jehan continued what became a monologue, “There I’ve said it. And I want to say it millions of times, or no more again if you wish me to stop. But you needed to know and I needed you to know. There be it. I love you and I love you so much. And I want you to kiss me and say it back to me, maybe stay with me and later, meet my friends so they can see how much of an amazing person you are, how kind you are with me and how important you are to me. But you don’t have to do any of those if you don’t want to. You can just walk away and never see me again.” 

Once their tongue was unknotted Jehan let everything out and that made them feel so much better. They could never contain their feelings anyway, especially about love, that’s why they were a literature major and a poet. 

Montparnasse’s lack of reaction was beginning to scare Jehan and Jehan wished they didn’t say all of those things, maybe time travel and punch themselves as a warning or just completely cut their tongue out. 

However, after a few moments, Montparnasse took a step forward, reached out to Jehan and wrapped an arm around them. Then pulling the poet closer to his face, he started kissing Jehan.

The kiss was not like the other times. Usually their kisses consisted of emotions like hunger and lust, pure animalistic desires and some drug induced hazes. This time, Montparnasse was kissing them slowly, taking his time. His lips were not cold or devoid of emotion, they were warm and tender. 

After what felt like a few years of kissing, Montparnasse pulled his lips back from Jehan’s and moved them to near their ear. 

“I love you too, Jehan Prouvaire.” he whispered. 

-

After their talk, Jehan and Montparnasse finally labeled their relationships as boyfriends which included a few fancy dates, Montparnasse preparing breakfast for Jehan and Jehan reading their poems to Montparnasse.

Jehan also introduced Montparnasse to their friends at ABC so they could have their own judgements of Montparnasse and not some campus gossip. Some of them did not like him initially due to his occupation but with time, they realized how much Jehan loved him and how good they both were for each other and accept him.

Enjolras actually gave the “if you hurt our Jehan, you’ll pay for it” speech but Montparnasse laughed at him due to the fact that Enjolras was very short and very blond. However, Bahorel who is a kick-box trainee and Feuilly, who is naturally very tall and big backed Enjolras up and Montparnasse just gave up.

Jehan also apologized to Grantaire for shutting him out and Grantaire apologized back for pushing too hard on Jehan. This making up process followed a few hours of cuddling on Jehan’s bed and Jehan badly drawing Disney characters and Grantaire guessing them. They couldn’t wait until Sunday to be silly. 

Things were shaping up to be pretty odd, but that was how Jehan did things anyway. They still struggled to get out of the bed or catch up with their assignments, but this time there was Montparnasse, Grantaire and rest of the ABC by their side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhthe comments on yesterday's episode made me feel so wholesome and content that i couldn't wait to post this one!! thank you everyone for reading, i appreciate it. 
> 
> find me on tumblr, im fairlyemo


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - Haunted  
> cw: alcohol, creepy mansions, house of usher (9th grade me would need this warning, dont look at me), and teeth rotting sweetnes  
> also maybe possible brooklyn nine nine spoilers in the end note - just to be safe
> 
> beta'd by in-love-and-liberty and they are probably the best beta a person could ask for, i am thankful.

“Would you ever like to spend Halloween with your friends, love?” 

“I don’t wish to be anywhere else but by you, sweetcheeks.”

Jehan squeezed Montparnasse’s hand. They were both wearing gloves but Jehan could feel Montparnasse’s bony fingers underneath the layers of wool and leather.

“I’m telling you the truth, ‘Parnasse, if I wanted to be with my friends on our anniversary, I’d tell you.” Jehan said.

Jehan and Montparnasse met and started seeing each other four years ago at a Halloween party at Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s house, where Éponine decided to bring Montparnasse along. Jehan remembers drinking too many colorful shots of alcohol and seeing the prettiest man they’d ever laid eyes on in their life. The event’s of the party were a haze in Jehan’s mind as they got very drunk, and apparently started reciting poetry to Montparnasse about his face.

They’ve been together since then.

Every Halloween, Montparnasse would surprise Jehan with a trip to somewhere spooky. It was mostly abandoned manors and old fashioned graveyards. Last year, Montparnasse took   
Jehan to Paris so they could spend their anniversary and Halloween at the catacombs. It was the best anniversary Jehan could hope for.

This year, Montparnasse told Jehan to dress warmly and comfortably for a little walk in the woods. Jehan was not afraid of many things, but the forest kept many secrets inside it and some secrets were better off undiscovered. With Montparnasse by their side, they felt safe. 

They’ve been walking for a while now and Jehan was growing more and more impatient for what Montparnasse planned this year. 

“We are almost there, love.” Montparnasse said as if he read Jehan’s mind.  
After five minutes of more walking, they reached an opening of trees. 

In front of them, stood a gigantic mansion that looked like a simple breeze of wind could knock over. There was no source of light except for the moon above the house. The mansion had black windows frames that somehow still stood unbroken and stone walls. The windows were so big and thoroughly placed that Jehan felt like a face was staring at them. Bare, dead trees surrounded the mansion and an absence of patio that made the house even more unwelcoming to the visitors.

Montparnasse spoke after allowing Jehan to take it all in. “They say the house has been untouched since the 17th century. Recently, it was opened for visit. Of course, the spirits of the dead has been here for the whole time.” he explained.

Montparnasse did not believe in the spirits or the ghosts - he was just adding a touch of drama for the sake of Halloween. 

“This is so beautiful - and scary. We can go in, right?” Jehan was still amazed by the grace of the house stood before them.

“Of course love.” 

They walked closer to the house, noticing that unlike the rest of the forest, there were no yellow or orange leaves on the ground. Everything here has been dead for a while.

“There is some light coming out,” Jehan observed. The second floor of the mansion was dimly lit.

“People leave candles there, in hopes releasing souls. They are only inviting big fires and risking ruining this beauty.”

“I’d candles if I knew!” Jehan sounded a little upset about the missed opportunity. Not that they had any souls that needed to be released.

The area around the house was not covered by any kind of fence or walls, however, the metal gate in front of the house was gigantic. It had to be at least nine feet tall, Jehan assumed. There were intricate details on it, mostly just carvings of random shapes but Jehan’s eye caught the two engravings of two crossed roses. The door was not locked as Montparnasse held the door like a gentleman for Jehan.

The first floor was simply breathtaking. There was almost no furniture or whatsoever but the wallpaper and the wooden floor looked as good as knew, if not, a little faded. The huge windows allowed the moonlight to peak through the house. Jehan entered a room assuming it to be the living room or the main dining room. They still held Montparnasse’s hand, dragging him behind themselves, until they saw a dusty grand piano. Untangling their hand from Montparnasse’s, Jehan pressed a note on the piano only to discover it is badly out of tune.

“I assume the spirits does not know how to enjoy a piano.” Montparnasse said behind Jehan. 

“Let’s see the upstairs, shall we?” 

“Sure,” Jehan walked past Montparnasse to the stairs. 

When they reached upstairs, it was true that there were candles but none of them seemed like random visitors left them there. There were all kinds of candles there, all kinds Jehan liked. And roses, maybe hundreds of red roses, scattered on desks, the floor, by the candles. Roses everywhere. Jehan walked forward, to pick up one of the roses from the desk and smell it. 

When they turned back to look at Montparnasse, they saw that he was on one knee, holding out a small box.

“Whats - going on?” Jehan managed to ask and stepped closer to Montparnasse. 

“Jehan Prouvaire, for the last four years, you’ve shown me beauty, peace and excitement. Before you, I believed in only survival and death. Now you’ve made me realize that those are not the only things a man needs in his life, no. With you, I’ve experienced love and passion.” At this point, Montparnasse could see tears rolling down Jehan’s cheeks but he continued nonetheless. “Everything about you is worthy of love, and I am not the one with the words for romance, I’m not the poet but here I stand, well, kneel,” Jehan giggled, tears still streaking down their cheeks, “asking you to marry me because there is no other person I’d like to spend the rest of my life with.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second and then looked at Jehan’s tear filled eyes deeply, “Jehan Prouvaire, will you marry me?”

Jehan looked wordless for a few seconds but they quickly managed to say the words that would bind themselves to Montparnasse forever. 

“Yes. Yes I will marry you!” 

Montparnasse rose to his feet as Jehan answered and took out the ring from the box. It was one of those clear rings that had real, dried flowers in them. The tiny flowers were red and blue, a perfect fit for Jehan. He slipped the ring to Jehan’s ring finger. It looked so perfect.

Montparnasse kissed Jehan slowly as he wiped out the tears from Jehan’s cheeks. 

“I thought you were going to say no for a moment.” Montparnasse smiled between kisses. 

“I thought I was dreaming.” Jehan said. 

Montparnasse slipped the ring to Jehan’s ring finger. It looked so perfect.

Neither of the two could believe they had such ethereal beings by themselves, this time bounded forever to each other. Two of them were imperfectly perfect and they matched like puzzle pieces; so different yet so fitting.

They spent the rest of their evening exploring the house, making up stories of people who lived there and Jehan even managed to quote a few lines from Edgar Allan Poe without Montparnasse realizing. 

Near the morning, they decided to visit the Halloween party that was happening at Café Musain and Jehan proudly showed off their engagement ring. A few people even managed to hug Montparnasse.

Everyone was so happy, yet unsurprised about the engagement. Courfeyrac said that he’d seen it coming, but he’d been saying that for the last three years now. Grantaire was happy that his best friend was marrying his close friend. Couple of people called dibs on being the best man for Jehan. There was a tough choice in their future, Jehan sensed.

Jehan had never felt so content before. With the love of their life and their best friends beside them, they never had a perfect Halloween like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have seen brooklyn nine nine's HalLOVEween episode for 9 times now blame all the romantic stuff on that show please, and if you haven't seen b99, do yourself a favor and just watch the most wholesome sitcom ever to exist. 
> 
> ALSO, i, a person with no romantic feelings, have tried to write a romantic proposal, and failed dramatically probably, so if you cringed during that, i am sorry. 
> 
> on tumblr i am fairlyemo (i am fairly emo in real life too, thats just my url)
> 
> thank you for rading! and commenting! and kudos-ing! i love everyone so much!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 - Role reversal

_a poem by montparnasse to jehan prouvaire_

i. void  
all in dark,   
in nonsense  
under some sense  
lived a man, a thief, a mirror and a tearer  
of hearts  
of muscles and blood,   
of life and will,  
of death and flower bud  
the man in dark only understood one spark   
about lust and all the feelings lost,   
could not see and seek   
until the day he was granted to speak  
  
ii. black  
something lighter, still not whiter   
the man tried to escape this delirium   
this pinnacle of human misery   
this cynical mask of histeria   
survival was not the only thing vital,   
only some things needed to be final  
the man reached for better grip   
a better light   
a prettier life and a sharper knife   
only one could save the man  
and the man had only one life span   
he either got there quick   
or it burned out like a matchstick   
  
iii. grey  
shapes were turning into stories   
and the man was falling   
and there was no better feeling   
face first, on hard concrete  
as if the man would plead   
to make better   
even fall faster   
a dash of good and  
a splash of livelihood   
only the skeletons under the skin would feel  
any excitement   
and enlightenment   
the man fell   
and fell  
and fell  
and fell  
and there was one more thing to tell  
  
iv. red  
the man saw red  
the man saw red  
and crimson  
and auburn   
and garnet  
and scarlet  
and ruby  
and wine   
and rose  
and rouge  
and it was there, over there   
because red was scary   
it was blood, death, end and scared   
now it meant something else sacred   
and now the man could see the beauty   
the lovely and the pretty   
he needed to see the crimson,  
read the scarlet,  
breathe the ruby.   
but most importantly   
hear the red,  
its plea to the dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jehan is canonically the poet but what if Montparnasse wrote a poem for Jehan? i tried to answer the question
> 
> i like to imagine that the fours verses reflect the changes Montparnasse goes through with having Jehan in his life, but you can always have different opinions and do feel free to share them with me,
> 
> (i actually cheated and stole the last few lines from a poem i wrote a while ago but nobody needs to know sshh)
> 
> on tumblr i am fairlyemo  
> say hi, leave an ask, send me prompts; i will be delighted


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reincarnation au with a hint of coffee shop au
> 
> beta'd by in-love-and-liberty on tumblr

Provaire was not a common name, yet Montparnasse hadn’t been able to track down the poet for many lives.

Yes, many lives because Montparnasse had been around several times.

Each life resembled each other; he was born with the same dark hair, with a lack of parents, same tendency to steal and same long fingers; always ready to fight with an unleashed desire and devotion to the devilish. Each life he remembered the previous but never the first, only a word, sometimes a thirst and an urge to tear, burn, destroy the world - it had never made sense, never seemed right; the word that mean the world was a last name, maybe the last name he ever heard.

Prouvaire - French sounding, very bounding. For centuries, Montparnase looked at dusty books, records, pamphlets and archives, and printed copies; libraries and phone books, lately the internet and all the web, even the ones underground and under legal laws; never such a name existed, or maybe it did, yet, never showed itself to Montparnasse. Near the end of each life, Montparnasse declared it impossible to find the name, declared himself crazy and declared the name a hoax, a trick and a trap; he was lucky that his lives ended quick and fast, with a pattern, a pattern he was yet to realize.

A pattern of complications and intricacies, a pattern that would drive a madman to sanity; if he began searching for the last name, his time would start; the sooner he stopped, the sooner he died, the later he stopped, the later he died; if he never stopped, well that is yet to be discovered as he always did stop, and if he never began, well that is the story here covered.

Montparnasse was not, contrary to common belief, fantasizing about murder and violence in every break he got, no, not really, he was a man of reality and truth, solid and hard, what he couldn’t do, he wouldn’t even dare to dream and picture. No, the real, and the actual was what he based his life around.

However, his life was always opposite of that; there was no other example or case of what he’s been going through; he’d been alive for multiple times now, every time he remembered the previous lives, how he died and how he existed, yet he was never able to find the reality of the source of this multiplying life.

Instead, he had a name, a sound and a word in his mind every time, a name that mean everything and nothing; and he was sick of looking for it, he was sick of searching, reading and even bribing for the name, he was sick of losing his sleep and sanity over it, his calm and peace with it and sacrificing his precious time and life for it, no, this time, this life and this chance, Montparnasse would not look for the name and play the game.

That morning, like every other mornings in this life, Montparnasse was up early and making coffee, air drying his hair, contemplating about what to wear and where to go simultaneously. Although to most people, and to the normal ones, this might be a normal morning, even a pleasant one, however, Montparnasse, the man that was cursed with a last name that didn’t want to be found, struggled to keep himself from seeking the name, especially after several life times of being a slave of nine letters and of three syllables. This morning, after he had devoured his rich quality coffee and dressed more fashionably than the ordinary man, Montparnasse decided to go out for a walk and maybe a talk, as he had no mission or task for the day, he just needed the get out of his house and just breathe.

He was lucky to reside in an apartment in such a nice part of the city, where he could walk to everywhere he desired, not get bothered and sweaty, be wherever he needs to be whenever he wants. He desired to visit a coffee shop he hadn’t been in a while, maybe even indulging, because, you see, he already had his morning coffee and he did not need another one, therefore, just for the sake of visiting the coffee shop

He was walking towards a small building colored in grey, with fairy lights above dark window frames and various flowers decorating the outside of the place, and he genuinely liked the place. Not because of the decor, or the lights, or the colors and the flowers but because they actually served good coffee and good food when he needed, and he needed those regularly at some time in his past, though now that he could make his own coffee, he no longer visited  the coffee shop frequently.

He walks into the familiar, yet oddly alien shop, the  front door still as heavy, the coffee smell still as fresh; and a calm sensation entered him. Although Montparnasse loves change, adores anonymity, and despises unnecessary familiarity, time to time, it felt nice and warm to be back in a place knowing he would be welcome and well reckon. To address a purchase, he walked over to the counter only to be greeted by an unfamiliar barista. It had been a long while since he last came here, apparently.

He was struck by the beauty of the person, no, not a person, a flower deity, a nymph, a dryad; dressed in reds, purples and yellows; a face decorated with golds and silvers, and a smile of a wicked revolutionary.

“Welcome! Is this your first time here?” Asked the fairy. Montparnasse was struck with a dash of gold, a chaos of colors and a sweet yet intoxicating voice.

“No,” replied Montparnasse.

“Oh,” said the flower deity, a little taken aback. Their freckled, pale face displayed emotions very openly. Montparnasse could watch them for hours. “What can I get you? Baked goods are fresh out of the oven, they should still be warm.”

“Coffee. Plain.” Montparnasse couldn't manage to utter more than a few words, his train of thoughts was destroyed by the golden shining cheekbones and inquiring eyes.

“The machine is still brewing, if you could wait for a few minutes, it should be ready.” the dryad sounded apologetic even though it wasn't their fault. Who could blame such an ethereal being anyway?

“Sure,” Montparnasse said before turning around to sit by one of the couches.

“And what name should I call you?” Asked the Nymph.

In that and in that second, worlds and universes, pasts and presents collided; Montparnasse uttered his name and at the same time read the barista’s name tag.

 _Prouvaire,_ it read.

And Montparnasse remembered.

 _Prouvaire,_ it read.

In elegant cursive.

 _Prouvaire,_ it read.

And Jehan smiled.

And Montparnasse almost fled. He couldn’t. After life times of searching for the name, he couldn’t leave after finally finding it.

Because he remembered. He remembered little Gavroche who would rival the thief king if he lived long enough; he remembered Éponine who was a wit undiscovered; he remembered Patron-Minette who were his family and Claquesous the shadow who never removed his mask; he remembered Thenardiér who was the nastiest man the thief ever knew in his many lives. He remembered the barricades, not because he fought or attacked, no, because he wanted to check if Éponine was still alive and he remembered the revolutionaries; the marble leader and the right hand man, the desperate lover and the drunk, and most importantly he remembered the poet.

He watched them afar multiple times, multiple days and occasions, never learned their names just faces of revolutionaries and adjectives; the golden leader and the drunkard, the logical guide and the bright center, Montparnasse observed them from the shadows. The poet was his favourite, always silent unless otherwise needed; then they would rage like the most greedy fires and deadliest of plagues; sometimes writing under attack, sometimes attacking under stars and sometimes stealing from the stars. Montparnasse was not interested in the uprising of the people, he was merely interested in the people; he saw Éponine die, saving the life of her love, yet he couldn't bring himself to abandon the barricade. He watched the impostor Javert in the barricade yet he couldn't bring himself to warn the students. He watched little Gavroche unmask Javert yet he couldn't bring himself to congratulate the urchin. He witnessed the National Guard capture the poet right in front his eyes, yet he couldn't bring himself to help him.

He never went back to the barricade after that day.

Now he did.

Now he remembered.

He was staring at the poet, alive and breathing, still fiery and still deadly.

The poet, this time in _this_ time, stared at him, in a shocked expression that gave him the idea that they, too, remembered.

The poet’s face displayed emotions very quickly again; they showed signals of remembrance, of distraught and of confusion. Their eyebrows arched almost all the way to their hair, pink lips parted in shock, eyes devoid of affection. Montparnasse guessed his face showed some signs of recognition too.

“H-how?” The poet stuttered. “Who - who are you?”

Montparnasse had no answer because there was none, therefore he did what he did best; he fled, allowing his feet to escape from the coffee shop, walking into the brisk air of the city and leave everything, everyone, every poet and revolutionary, behind, disappearing into shadows, he never looked back whether the golden fairy was following or not. He found himself in his apartment, where he could hide from his past lives.

He scared himself - he disappointed himself. For many years and lives, he planned and dreamed of what he would do when he finally reached a result, but now, when he had the chance, he fled like a coward, a bastard, and a thief.

For minutes, turning into hours, turning into days, Montparnasse stayed inside his apartment, away from the poet. He couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen if he faced them again. Would they ask about the barricades? Would Montparnasse tell about their failure? Would the poet ask why Montparnasse knew their name for lives? Would Montparnasse have an answer? Would the poet ask why Montparnasse failed to find them sooner? Would Montparnasse tell them he always gave up?

Until again, several days later he found himself not be able to stay indoors, believing if he spent another minute under a roof, he would drive himself crazy. He left the apartment in the middle of the night, believing the darkness and the lateness would protect him from what he was scared to confront.

Scared.

The king of thieves in many lives, the deadliest of the leaders and the friend of the lawless was scared.

What a funny life it was.

He found himself in one of the parks, though the fountain drained of water and the streetlights deprived of illumination, one could believe the park was abandoned and deserted. Satisfied with the serenity provided by the lack of humans, he sat down on one of the old, metal and cold benches however, only to find the poet sitting next to himself in a matter of minutes.

“Don't run this time,” begged the poet.

Montparnasse felt his body stiffen as if the wish of the poet physically forbade him of disobeying.  

“How did you find me?” he asked. Montparnasse came here to avoid the poet, not face them.

“Like how you found me. My feet brought me here.”

“I remembered things, well, lives, when I heard your name.” The poet stopped for a second.“Why?”

Montparnasse didn't reply. He couldn't, even if he wanted to, there was no answer to give.

“I remembered the rebellion, my friends, everyone, the guards and my -” their voice got smaller with each word, Montparnasse completed the sentence in his head.

It was true then, the poet had died after getting captured, days before the barricades fell.

“But I don't remember you.” Finished the poet.

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate myself for ending this here but maybe i’ll continue with this story because there is never too much reincarnation au’s with les mis
> 
> and unfortunately this’ll be my last contribution to jehanparnasse week as i couldn’t write a lot due to my exams and im going out of town for the next 5 days, so i dont have the time to write more. i may write some headcanons tho. i have many. so many. 
> 
> also i apologize for the long af sentences but you should blame edgar allan poe for those. 
> 
> i want to shout out @in-love-and-liberty again, they’ve been so great and patient and quick and they have rad af headcanons on their blog and everyone should know how amazing they are.
> 
> find me on tumblr; fairlyemo.tumblr.com
> 
> to everyone who has read, commented, liked, reblogged, left kudos on ao3 and everything: i appreciate it so much - i was dead scared to share these but everyone was so nice and sweet and i am so glad that i shared. i will definietly write more in the future. all thanks to you.

**Author's Note:**

> well, this is the first time I'm publishing any of my writing ever! So, if you have comments they are very well apprecaited, kudos too, of course.  
> You can find me on tumblr, i am fairlyemo.tumblr.com there, and thank you for reading this.


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